


you have my heart, so don't hurt me

by unorgaynized



Series: a dream of spring [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, Gen, Rhaenys Targaryen Lives, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, canon compliant racism, friendship is kinda a loose word whoops, uneven friendship dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:28:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23172433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unorgaynized/pseuds/unorgaynized
Summary: But she does anyway. They’d both been children after all, full of dreams shaped and destroyed by their families.Cerenna Lannister looks back on her years with Rhaenys.
Relationships: Rhaenys Targaryen (daughter of Elia)/Cerenna Lannister
Series: a dream of spring [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1664740
Comments: 5
Kudos: 6
Collections: ASOIAF Rarepair Week





	you have my heart, so don't hurt me

**Author's Note:**

> While this can be read with my How to Chain a Dragon fic, and fits into that story, there's no need to do so. At the time I wrote that fic, I was in a completely different mindset, and while I still would like to come back to it someday, this might be the closest thing I get to it. I might return to polish it up, however!

“How old are you, Cerenna?” Ser Kevan had asked her all those years ago. “Nine, are you not?”

“Ten, my lord,” she’d said. Ser Kevan was her elder brother’s knight-master, and it had been known that Ser Kevan was his brother’s right hand. If Ser Kevan inquired about Cerenna, it was certainly not due to distant familial feeling. He was only her father’s cousin, after all, and she was friends with her cousin Lanna, not his son Lancel. She’d hoped at the time, momentarily, that he would be asking for a betrothal for Lancel, but Cerenna knew better, even then. Daven always said their greater relatives thought little of their father, and Lancel was thought to be the next lord if Lord Tywin could not free his son. 

“Ten.” Ser Kevan frowned slightly. “You haven’t started your flowering, have you?”

Cerenna had thought she understood the question. At the time, Lanna had always been wild and bold, brave and fearless, their shared grandfather in a girl’s body, always ready for the next adventure. The moment Lanna had flowered, she was betrothed, and Cerenna had wept for her cousin’s absence. Lanna and Cerenna had been the best of friends before, and Ser Kevan wished to make sure Cerenna hadn’t picked up poor habits from her. “No, my lord. My septa says that is still two or three years off.”

“Good enough,” Ser Kevan had replied. “Would that I had a daughter . . but you’ll do well enough. Lady Rhaenys requires a household.”

 _Lady Rhaenys?_ But that meant-- “Oh.” the word tore through her. She had hoped to serve the queen, but her royal cousin was so much older. It had made sense, that she was too young to be a lady-in-waiting for the queen. Still, she had hoped that she could do so in a few years, mayhaps when she was a maiden. If she was the Targaryen girl’s lady, she would stay that way.

“ _Oh?”_ Ser Kevan’s lips had pressed together.

“I’ll need a new wardrobe,” Cerenna had scrambled to say. “It’s only, a Lannister of Casterly Rock cannot any look any less than her best. And King Roberts hates the Targaryens, everyone says so.” He hadn’t meant to keep Rhaegar’s daughter alive, everyone knew that. She’d vanished and Lord Tywin had found her some time after, with Lord Arryn staying his hand.

“He does indeed,” Ser Kevan said. “Lord Arryn picked two girls to have as her ladies, but it would not do to leave out the Lannisters. He chose only from the stormlands, daughters of men of proven loyalty. They are of small enough importance in their own right, and the girl might think to lead them. You’ll see to it she won’t.”

“Yes, my lord.” Cerenna had curtsied, and didn’t bother asking if her father had known. If Ser Kevan told her she was going to King’s Landing, Lord Tywin had decided it. She had thought her father already knew, and would only be distantly surprised later to find that she found out before him. “A Lannister does her duty. When would you have me leave?”

* * *

She had arrived in King’s Landing not two months later, a dizzy-eyed girl aghast by the stinking city, and met the others she was to lead. Cyrenna Caron (and how Cerenna had hated their name similarity!) was of her family in name only, as her father was the third son of a third son. And the other girl, to make matters even worse, was a _bastard_. 

Cerenna had not met a bastard before who wasn’t a servant. She had known that her grandfather Jason had fathered many of them, and while she had seen Lynora Hill once or twice, and Lord Tywin’s brother Ser Gerion had recently fathered some girl on a common woman, but she could not help but peer at the girl to see if there was something obviously different, like there was with Lord Tywin’s Imp son. 

Mylenda Storm had not _looked_ all too different than someone who was trueborn. She was tall with curling brown hair, piercing eyes, and a proud chin. She didn’t look too different than Cyrenna Swann, really, but if there was anything on her body, Cerenna wouldn’t see it until later. 

“What are you staring at?” Cyrenna Swann had asked, Stormlands-prideful.

“Oh,” Cerenna had said. “I was only thinking, because the girl--”

“Lady Rhaenys,” Mylenda Storm had said quickly. “She’s a lady, remember.”

Cerenna had known she had mistepped then, and knew she could not allow herself to be corrected. Ser Kevan had told her to lead them, after all, and no _Lannister_ , no lioness of Casterly Rock could be corrected by some Stormlands bastard. “King Robert would not be overly happy to hear you defend her.” She’d folded her arms. “My cousin the queen says that she’s only a lady out of pity.” Queen Cersei _had_ said that, but Cerenna hadn’t been meant to overhear that.

“Tell me about yourselves,” Cyrenna Swann had said then, trying to seize some control of the conversation as Mylenda colored. “My father Symond died in the rebellion, as did my older brother. They fought for King Robert, but the Ullers killed them.”

Mylenda Storm had replied with some nonsense of her cousin in the Kingsguard, and Cerenna ignored it. She would not give Swann the satisfaction of bowing to her, because lions could defeat swans easily enough. Swans only made noise when they were common, after all, and only sang when they died. Lions _roared._

She didn’t remember much of the conversation after, only that they’d gotten to the realization that they shared blood through the Freys. Mylenda and Cyrenna shared a common line, as Walder Frey’s first son had wed a Swann, and then his grandson was going to marry a Caron. They’d all laughed about that, and had been presented to Queen Cersei’s chief lady shortly after.

Cerenna had managed to be introduced to Rhaenys first, drawing on her connections to the queen. Rhaenys was a pretty girl, fine-boned and shy, delicate as a fawn or a kitten. Her dark hair was pulled away from her face, but Rhaenys looked as if she’d like nothing more than to hide behind it. Cerenna was disappointed to find her not some exotic Targaryen beauty, silver-streaked with violet eyes. But, she’d thought, she would outshine her. Lanna often told her she looked like paintings of the late Lady Joanna, with the same set of chin and the same curve of the brow her famed twins had not, even though Cerenna knew Queen Cersei was her mother’s very image.

“I’m Cerenna Lannister,” she’d said then, refusing to curtsy. Lions didn’t bow to bound beasts, even if they had wings. “My cousin’s the queen. I’m the daughter of Lady Joanna’s brother, and my brother Daven is Ser Kevan’s squire.”

Rhaenys had blinked at her, once, twice. “I’m pleased to meet you?”

“I’m to be your lady companion,” Cerenna had said, savoring how grown the words made her feel. “The other two, well, one is poor and the other is a bastard so I’m the only suitable one of rank for you. They’re Lord Arryn’s pick, and I’m Lord Tywin’s. He’s my uncle.”

Something flashed across Rhaenys’s face then. It might have almost been fear. 

“I’ve never been out of the Rock or Lannisport before now,” Cerenna had chattered then. “Have you been out of King’s Landing before?” Rhaenys had been missing for a year or two, she remembered. Cerenna was only a year older, so she would have been. . . three? Four? Five? 

“I don’t know.” Rhaenys said, clasping her hands tightly in front of her. “I don’t remember.” 

She wasn’t really even a lady, Cerenna had decided then. She was a former princess, and barely that. She was lucky to be alive, and she was a scared little fawn now, delicate and sharp-edged. _Brittle_ , in every sense of the word. She wouldn’t have to worry about anything, or about anything the girl could do.

“You’ll come to Casterly Rock with me,'' Cerenna had said then, taking her hand. “When I’m summoned back, you can come with me, if the king lets you. Mayhaps when my brother earns his spurs, or if my sister Myrielle is deathly ill.” 

Worry had creased a line between Rhaenys’ dark brows. “Is that often?”

“Far too much.” Myrielle had often been ill as a child, and had spent more of her life in her sickbed than out of it. What might be a simple cold in Cerenna would defeat her sister for weeks, and Myrielle would be miserable throughout it all. “It shan’t be more than a year.”

Rhaenys, Cerenna remembered, had not quite known what to say to that. Rhaenys had often not known what to say, so Cerenna had said much and more for her. She’d thought . . .what had she thought at the time? That if Rhaenys had minded, she would have said something, or simply agreed with Cerenna? It hadn’t occurred to Cerenna that Rhaenys would think any differently than she would.

* * *

Cerenna had liked to spend her hours with the former princess as the months went on. She didn’t see her queenly cousin as often as she thought she might, yet she was still royalty. She was often with the former princess when the girl left her rooms, even if it was only to bathe in the sun.

“What have you dreamed about? You must tell me, Rhaenys.” Cerenna closed her eyes to the sun. It was a hot day, as it was summer still. The Greyjoys were rebelling off the coast, but Cerenna had had no fear. They were a small cluster of islands, and had no chance. Even though they had attacked _Lannisport_ , they would get no further.

“I don’t know,” Rhaenys had said then. “I don’t remember any of them.”

“Not that sort of dream!” Cerenna had laughed then. “Your true dreams, the ones you think of for your future. Your largest wish. What would _that_ be?” Mylenda Storm and Cyrenna Swann were away from them, out of hearing. It was only the two of them, and the guards on the tower. 

“You tell me first,” Rhaenys had said at last, in an uncharacteristic show of defiance. She’d twisted on her side to look at Cerenna’s face. Her dark eyes were soft, and it was only because of how pretty and sad she looked at that time that Cerenna hadn’t demanded that Rhaenys went first. 

“I want to be a great lady,” Cerenna had said. “I want a husband who stays out of my way, and I want to be able to have my sons inherit his wealthy lands, and I don’t want to have to move from--” _The Rock_ , she’d wanted to say, because she’d never imagined leaving when she was younger. Not like Lanna, betrothed away to Lord Jast and far away from the Rock. Casterly Rock had been a haven for a child, a castle hollowed out of near a mountain. There were tunnels that only children could fit in, the hidden Imp, abandoned mines filled with water, sea-carved caverns and the golden Hall of Heroes. Cerenna had _never_ wanted to leave. But if she wanted all that now, she’d have to leave Rhaenys. 

“Oh,” Cerenna had said then. “I don’t know.”

“I’m sure you will be,” Rhaenys had replied, twisting to look at her fully. Rhaenys had had the oldest eyes then, and Cerenna hadn’t been able to look at them for long.

“Tell me yours,” Cerenna had said quickly. “I told you mine. I know you have to have some.”

Rhaenys had been silent then, in what Cerenna had assumed was deep thought. Cerenna could now see it was trying to figure out if she had any, much less any that she could voice. She hadn’t known at the time, how could she? She’d understood Rhaenys so little then. 

“I dream of going out into the desert,” Rhaenys had said at last. “And then there’s a pool of water, an oasis maybe. Or a stream, and when I’m floating in it, I’ll look up at the stars and see everything.”

Cerenna had frowned then, believing every word, yet disquieted. “I’m with you, aren’t I? You wouldn’t do this alone?”

Rhaenys had met her eyes evenly. “Of course you are.”

* * *

There was much to explore in the Red Keep then, even as Rhaenys cringed behind her. She’d thought herself another Lanna, taking a shyer girl behind her on adventures. She’d convinced Rhaenys to go into the dungeons with her once, and Rhaenys had wept for _hours_ silently after that.

“You’re too old for this,” Cerenna had snapped when they had returned to Rhaenys’s room. She’d been laying on Rhaenys’s bed, curled enough so that they both could fit. “I was _five_ when my cousin Lanna took me to the oubliettes. We were turned away the first time and the second, but we were allowed to look in the third time, and there was one that was occupied.”

Rhaenys had gone cold and still then, for all that they’d lain together in the sun not ten minutes before to rid themselves of the chill of the dungeons. “Who was in it?”

“I don’t know.” Cerenna had raked her fingers through Rhaenys’s hair. Thick and dark, it had clung to her fingers. She and Lanna had been little terrors, running around in Casterly Rock as small children, trying to find the oubliettes to scare little Myrielle with. Lanna, brave and bold as any lion, had brazened her way through the men at the gates, and Cerenna had remembered looking in a deep hole to see someone in it. She hadn’t given it any thought at the time, had only laughed and ran out, holding her cousin’s hand.

But who had been the prisoner? They had been small, and it had seemed so normal to Cerenna. They hadn’t cared who it was, but what if it had been Rhaenys? Rhaenys had liked to hear Cerenna laugh, had never liked the dark, had never liked small spaces. Rhaenys had _gone missing_ for months on end, and had only been found by Lord Tywin. It would only make sense. 

It had been something like the songs, Cerenna had decided. It only made it so that they were linked. Even Cerenna’s brother, newly knighted by Lord Tywin himself, for his services in the Greyjoy rebellion had nothing so great. But then, she’d known, Rhaenys could not be allowed to think more of it. Rhaenys could not _remember_ , even though she would surely figure it out. 

Cerenna was two-and-ten, after all. Rhaenys was only eleven, and if Cerenna could figure it out so easily, everyone else could too. She didn’t know if all the adults knew, but if they did, they pretended they did not, at least, and kept it from Rhaenys. Lord Tywin would not be happy if she couldn’t, so--

“Have you ever learned to kiss?” Cerenna asked, pushing herself up to sit. She had wanted to shock Rhaenys, wanted to see what her face would look like. She’d told herself that at the time at the time, at least.

“No,” Rhaenys answered after some time, though something sparked in her dark eyes. Rhaenys so rarely looked interested, though Cerenna had been able to read the signs so clearly then: the half-confusion in her face, the slightest raise of brows.

“That’s because you’re only a leftover and a hostage,” Cerenna said. She hadn’t meant to be so mean, but she’d been worried that Rhaenys might say _yes._

“You’re the first handmaidens I’ve had,” Rhaenys had responded, honestly as always. “The only other girl I see is Princess Myrcella and she’s a baby. I wouldn’t learn to kiss on her.”

Cerenna had laughed then, picturing Rhaenys trying. Laughed, because it had been what she’d known, and Rhaenys would remember this more than the previous conversation. “We’re not your handmaidens, Rhaenys. I’m watching you for my-cousin-the-Queen, you know that. And to civilize you. Your mother was Dornish, and everyone knows they’re wanton and scandalous and uncouth.”

“My mother was kind,” Rhaenys had protested then. She was hurt again. Cerenna had loved that, had loved how she could make Rhaenys feel things, the power she’d held over the other girl.

“Your mother was a Martell, and I suppose they’re better because they’re princes and stood against the dragons for two hundred years and even after that Targaryens have taken them to marry. But you’re not a Martell or a Targaryen, you’re a nameless girl.” Cerenna laughed again. She was being cruel, she had known even then. Overly cruel, so that this would be remembered more, so that Lord Tywin might acknowledge her one day, so that Rhaenys might remain a friend to the Lannisters even if she wasn’t Cerenna’s.

Rhaenys was silent then, looking at her lap.

“Don’t be stupid!” Cerenna had said, flinging an arm around Rhaenys’s shoulder. “I’m here to help you with that. I’ll teach you how to kiss: here, part your mouth like this, and lean in--”

Rhaenys followed her instructions obediently, and--

Cerenna had _liked_ it. She had liked pressing her lips against Rhaenys’s, liked the stir in her stomach and the trembling way Rhaenys’s hands came up to cup her face. Rhaenys’s mouth had been chapped and her hands were soft. Cerenna could not-- she should not, she had not, _her uncle killed Rhaenys's brother and mother._

“Oh,” Cerenna had said, and broke away. 

Rhaenys had shrank back, as if anticipating a slap. “Did I do something--”

“No,” Cerenna had said quickly. “That was, that was practicing, that’s all. That’s it.”

Cerenna regretted it now, especially once their practicing had been discovered and she’d grown bolder. Even then, she’d failed, panicking that she’d failed her family, that she would be in difficult straits, sent off to marry like Lanna. She would be sent away, and Lanna had just been married even though she was only four-and-ten, and they said she was already with child for all that she was too young, was only two years older than Cerenna. She hadn't wanted that, she couldn't want that. Cerenna, for all she’d dreamed of marrying a lord, could not see herself shackled in wedlock then, married to some older lord who would do what he wanted with her. She’d blamed Rhaenys for the playing and the kissing, desperate for the blame not to fall on her golden head.

They had been children, after all, they had only been young. The only difference of note that lay between their fortunes was that Rhaenys’s life had been devastated, thrust into the bowels of Casterly Rock by her sire and grandsire, and Cerenna’s life had risen as the result of that. There was far more to it, of course, because Cerenna’s cousin’s crown was brought by the destruction of Rhaenys’s family. Cerenna had prospered as Rhaenys had suffered, and brought more upon her to thrust herself higher. 

And Rhaenys deserved better.

**Author's Note:**

> day 2 of ASOIAFrarepairs week: children | dreams


End file.
